Persuasion
by cornfedfiddler
Summary: Written from Ranger's point of view, Persuasion aligns with the end of JE's novel "Hard Eight." The Medical Examiner determined he committed suicide, but what really happened to Abruzzi? Solve the mystery. (This short story is written as an "origins" piece to align with my full length story, "Plum Sweet". Can be understood independently, but they work as companion pieces.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: All characters belong to Janet Evanovich. This story picks up at the end of Hard Eight. The story is almost cannon, exploring how Abruzzi dies. However, this story is written in the same universe as my completed story, _Plum Sweet._ If you haven't read it yet, it might help you digest this short story. However, mostly what you need to know about Plum Sweet is that, in the book, Ranger is _unmentionable_ (like Diesel). The first pieces are almost verbatim Janet's writing, but I've changed the character voice to Ranger's point of view. It all belongs to her.

A huge thank you to L-Sfarmwmn for beta reading this piece for me. If you haven't checked out her newest piece yet, "Making Waves", you definitely should. It's bomb.

* * *

I sat at Connie's desk, absentmindedly shuffling through files she had set aside for me. I'd been working nearly exclusively for my security start-up, Rangeman, but sometimes FTAs came in that I simply could not pass up.

Sometimes, I chose to pursue a FTA because he or she came with a large bounty. With the success of my firm, the funds weren't critical like they once were, but extra money was always a plus. I enjoyed the chase… the thrill. The predator stalking his prey.

Other times, the FTA was a threat to Vinnie's primary bounty hunter, Stephanie Plum. Despite my better judgment, the need to protect her outweighed any rational thoughts I might have had about skipping out on the bail bonds business completely.

Though I'd never admit it out loud, the woman had grown on me over the past year. Her unruly curls, her Jersey attitude, her petulance, her smart mouth, her affinity for doughnuts…. All of it. She'd made inroads to my heart, and no matter how I tried to keep her out, my efforts were futile. She made my heart of stone beat again.

Only days ago, I'd foolishly allowed my armor to crack. I made love to her like a dying man, gasping for oxygen. I'd let myself hold her through the night, wrapped in my arms and tangled in my thoughts. It seemed now I was at an impasse—send her back to Morelli or ruin her for other men?

My name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, but my acquaintances and enemies alike call me Ranger. I'm second-generation Cuban-American living in Trenton, New Jersey—just a short drive from my hometown of Newark. I've lived half a dozen lives in my short thirty-one years, and I think I've almost settled on who I am.

Almost.

As a child, I was small for my age. My male siblings and cousins tormented me, and my schoolmates beat me up. My girl relatives, however, thought tea parties and dress up were an excellent activity to engage in with little Carlos. Despite loving parents and grandparents, those years were not the highlight of my existence.

As a teen, I was troubled. I stole cars. I experimented with girls & drugs. I got sent to my abuela's house for fixing, but it didn't take. I was hell on wheels. Though I consider this period of my life to have been _fun,_ I can't attest to its _intelligence_. Truth be told, I'm lucky I didn't get my ass killed on the street.

I finally found the solution to my attitude problem. I joined the United States Army. Routine, responsibility, and exceptionally high expectations seemed to be the cure. Well, that and the threat of losing my life to an IED at any given moment. That reality will make any teenage punk with an attitude grow up in a hurry.

I excelled in the Army and was selected to join the elite Rangers. As I grew in skill and in rank, the burden I carried also grew. I could not begin to quantify the number of deaths for which I was responsible or the immense suffering I'd caused. I began losing pieces of Carlos, morphing instead into a cold, hard, military machine… one without a heart and without a conscience. I was a skillful, trained assassin. I lost Carlos.

I became Ranger.

Ranger stuck, too. Not only the name, but the skill set. The attitude. The empty void in my chest where good, feeling men keep their hearts.

I eventually left the military, but I still occasionally work for the government on contracts. My skillset is valuable, and the money is good. But when I left the Rangers, I vowed to improve my karma. To be a better person. To find Carlos again. Maybe not all of him, but some of the shattered pieces. I knew I couldn't wash the blood from my hands, but at least I could work at making the world a slightly better place—even if my moral code didn't perfectly align with local, state, or federal laws.

After leaving the Army, I initially worked as a bounty hunter for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds, squirreling away what money I could from takedowns and government contracts. I knew I wanted to start a security firm, but startup money was a requirement. One of my military buddies, Tank, wanted to go into business with me. I trusted him as a partner and as a friend. Once we had the cash, Rangeman was born.

Today, I'm the CEO of Rangeman LLC, an elite security firm with branches in Trenton, Boston, Miami, and Atlanta. I drive fast, sexy cars and live in a penthouse apartment. My image has changed from thug to successful businessman, but what's beneath hasn't shifted an inch. The streets of Trenton know me as Ranger. It's become my street name, but it's also who I am—a lethal assassin. I've used my street cred to provide some level of protection for Stephanie, but sometimes, even that isn't enough.

The girl is a magnet for trouble.

And I was a walking freak-show.

Lucy Ricardo meets Batman on the streets of Jersey.

From an early age, I'd known I wasn't _normal._ With my thoughts alone, I could persuade those around me to do anything. And I mean _anything._

I could urge a man to hand over his car keys. Choose chicken instead of steak. Switch jobs. Leave his wife. Invest in my company.

In the wrong hands, my abilities could ruin lives. Take lives. Start World War III.

But it wasn't until I was in my teens that I learned what I was. _Who_ I was. The monster that existed below the surface. The demon that defied all scientific explanation.

I'd been living in Miami with my Abuela Rosa, who had been working tirelessly to tame me. Of course, I was still getting in to trouble, running with the wrong crowd. I knew of my talents, but I couldn't explain them. There had been no logical explanation. I hadn't honed them. I didn't know how. I'd simply used them to my advantage when I chose.

Typically, I used the talents to steal cars or score cheap drugs. On a few occasions, I'd convinced a teacher to change my grade. I drew the line at using my abilities to get girls. Grand theft auto was manageable, but I couldn't handle rape on my conscience.

I'd been in the process of stealing a car when I learned exactly who I was.

I'd been hidden in a parking garage in downtown Miami. I'd ridden the city bus from school and was waiting for a car to strike my fancy. I'd promised my friends at school that I'd pick them up by lunch in a stolen vehicle of my choosing. I had refused to settle for a crap car. I wanted to prove to my new Florida buddies that I was the shit. So, there I sat in the garage, waiting for something worthy of my time. Something that made me look like the badass I thought I'd been.

Today, my life is significantly altered, but my love of fast, sexy, black cars hasn't. Some things never change.

It only took an hour for a black 1986 Lamborghini Countach to roll into the garage and park several spaces from my location, crouched behind a purple Chevrolet Cavalier.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Come to Carlos.

I could hardly believe my good fortune. I strolled toward the car, my black A shirt and saggy jeans advertising the punk I'd been.

But before I could work my magic, the driver of the car stood, faced me, and called me by name.

"So, we finally meet, Carlos Manoso."

I'd been stunned into silence. I had stood, frozen and staring, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Why did he know who I was? Was this a set-up?

"I've been looking for you," the man had said. "I've been sent to deliver a message from the Board of Unmentionables."

As it turns out, his name was Jett. He was a large man, over six feet with a muscular body. His coal black hair was cut short, his dark eyes sparkling with a mischievous quality. He told me about unmentionables. He told me we all had different talents. He had explained that his job was to pull the plug on unmentionables who were using their talents in illegal or unsafe ways. He'd been sent to warn me that my time was limited if I continued utilizing my abilities illegally.

Before he left, he told me to be smart. If I played by the rules, I could do his job one day.

Fifteen years later, that offer came.

After learning about my abilities, I spent two weeks on a bender, popping pills and drinking to forget what I'd learned. I was a teenager. I longed to fit in. To be normal. Learning I was anything _but_ normal wasn't reassuring.

It only worsened my substance abuse problem.

After my two-week pity party, I cleaned up somewhat. I was still a punk. I still used sometimes. I still made poor choices, but I didn't use my abilities. In fact, I did everything I could to forget they existed. To bury them where they'd never be found.

I succeeded, too. I got out of school and went to college for a few years before joining the army. I put my substance abuse problems in the past, where they belonged. Then I chased skips. Then I started a business.

Jett showed up on the doorstep of my apartment one cold fall day fifteen years later. He'd aged, but he was still the man I'd remembered from that day in the parking garage.

"I'm retiring," he announced, a twinkle in his eye. "We want you to take my job. I can't think of a better man for it."

I considered it for a few days, but in the end, I'd declined the offer. I'd successfully stayed out of the unmentionable world for years, and that is where I'd planned to stay. After growing up as a poor boy from the barrio, I'd made something of myself. Taking a job without pay and without stability threatened to undermine all the work I'd done to establish a stable career with a steady income and personal security.

Plus, a job change of that magnitude threatened to drag me away from the curly haired, blue-eyed firecracker bounty hunter I'd met only one month prior.

I've spent years trying to repair my karma. I wasn't a great kid. I've done a lot of bad in my life. In spite of all this karma work, it seems the score can never truly be even. Based on local current events, I anticipate I'll be creating yet another black mark on my path to enlightenment. That is, if Eddie Abruzzi doesn't forget about Stephanie soon.

I was ready to end his game of cat-and-mouse.

I glanced over the file I'd been studying to see a taxi cab pull up in front of the bonds office. I wrote the cab off as normal traffic on Hamilton. That is, until I saw Steph crawl out of the back seat. She hoisted her black messenger bag onto her shoulder, said something the driver, slammed the door, and made for the bond's office door with fire in her step.

The corner of my mouth threatened to twist into an amused smile, but I pushed it down, instead wearing my blank face. Steph had lost two Honda CR-Vs this week, leaving her without wheels. I'd offered her another vehicle, but she had refused.

Surrounded by a flurry of untamed curly hair, Stephanie burst through the door.

"You're not going to believe this!" she said to Lula. "Andy Bender is dead."

"Get out! Are you shitting me?!" Lula asked, sprawled on the office couch.

Vinnie's office door whipped open, and he stuck his head out. "Cripes, you didn't shoot him in the back, did you? My insurance company hates that!"

"I didn't shoot him at all," Stephanie argued. "He died from the flu! I was just at his apartment. His wife told me he was dead—from the flu!"

Lula crossed herself, and the grin I'd been holding at bay finally escaped.

"I'm glad I learned about this cross thing," Lula said. "It's a comfort."

Stephanie's attention shifted to me, seated behind Connie's desk.

"Did you just get out of a cab?" I asked her.

"Maybe," she said, noncommittal. Her cheeks flushed.

I could feel my grin widen into a full-on smile, but I couldn't help it. The woman standing before me was ridiculous, but I loved her. Every single inch of her, for that matter, including the four added by her hair on humid days.

"You went after a FTA in a cab?"

She placed her hand gently on her Smith and Wesson five shot revolver, which was strapped to her thigh in a webbed gun belt. "Don't give me a hard time," she sighed. "I'm not having a great day, and, as you know, I've only got two bullets left. I might end up using them on one of us."

"Do you need a ride home?" I asked her, hoping to steal a few extra minutes of her time.

"Yes," she sighed.

"I'm your man," I said, shutting the file folders and standing.

Steph said her goodbyes to Lula and Connie, and we headed for my truck. Steph was visibly agitated, looking over her shoulder and scanning her surroundings. She even glanced into my truck before opening the door.

I knew why she was skittish, but I asked anyway.

"Are you looking for somebody?"

"Abruzzi," she said, angrily. "He threatened me again."

"Do you see him?" I asked.

"No," she admitted, settling into the oversized seat of my lifted Ford F-250 truck.

I was smart enough to know if Abruzzi was out there, there was a good chance Steph wouldn't see him. I didn't share that knowledge with her. She was already scared. I didn't need to fuel the fire.

I also didn't tell Stephanie that I'd been waiting for her at the bonds office. I'd checked her apartment earlier, and I knew Abruzzi's henchmen were waiting for her there. Little did Steph know, I had guys from Rangeman watching her lot today. Every foot that touched the sidewalk and every car that moved an inch in the lot was reported directly to me.

 _No reason to share that information with her now_ , I thought to myself. _No reason for her to fear me now, though she should._

We rode in silence to Steph's apartment. I caught myself glancing over at her occasionally, studying her expressions. I was a master of concealing my emotions behind an unfeeling face. Stephanie was the yin to my yang, her face showcasing every emotion and thought she experienced. I felt stress rolling off her body like crashing waves, and I found myself wishing I could shoulder some of her burden.

Abruzzi had been playing his war game with Stephanie for nearly a week. She'd been chased and assaulted by men in bear and bunny costumes, as well as men in rubber president masks. The security of her apartment had been compromised, and two cars had met their end in her possession this week—one of which was mine. Her nerves were shot, and her bravado was growing thin. I could see the dark circles growing under her eyes and the line of her mouth that had grown grim. The time had come for me to do something about this situation.

I felt the set of my jaw grow rigid as I resigned myself to this fate. _More blood on my hands._

Of course, I rationalized the situation. If I didn't take out Abruzzi, he'd kill Stephanie. Of that I was certain. He'd also kill Evelyn and Annie Soder, and her friend Dottie and her two children. How many innocents would lose their lives at his hands if he remained on the street? How many already had?

I turned the truck into the lot of Stephanie's apartment building and parked. I caught a glimpse of the unfamiliar SUV I'd noticed earlier and studied it.

"There's a man in the SUV by the dumpster. Do you know him?" I asked her, releasing my safety belt.

She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the vehicle and its occupant. The line of her mouth tipped downward.

"No. He doesn't live in the building," she admitted.

"Let's talk to him," I said, jumping down from the truck and drawing my gun.

We crossed the lot to the SUV, and I rapped on the driver's window. The driver rolled the window down, and I gave him a blank expression. No reason to show my hand already.

"Yeah?" the guy asked.

"Waiting for someone?" I asked.

"What's it to you?" the guy asked, his face humorless.

Wrong answer. I felt the fear and anxiety I'd felt for Steph's safety snap in my chest. I reached into the truck, snatching Abruzzi's henchman by the front of his shirt and dragging him halfway out the window. I gave him a look that could kill, shaking him with every word.

"I'd like you to take a message to Eddie Abruzzi. Can you do that for me?" My expression was cold and terrifying, my voice laced with venom.

The driver nodded, and I released him.

"Tell Abruzzi he's lost the war, and he should move on."

The driver gave a solitary nod and drove out of the lot without a word. I kept my gun trained on the vehicle until it was out of sight, then shoved it into my gun belt. I glanced to Steph's window, where more idiots were waiting—I had no doubt.

"We're going to give the rest of the team time to get out of your apartment. I don't want to have to shoot anybody. I'm on a tight schedule today. I don't want to have to fill out police forms," I said, only half kidding. I'd already directed a significant portion of Rangeman's resources to protecting Stephanie and to finding Annie and Evelyn. She didn't know it, of course. But I'd done it all the same. Hell, she didn't even know I owned a company.

We waited five minutes, then entered the building, taking the stairs to Stephanie's apartment. The security system that I'd had installed on her door indicated her apartment had been compromised. _No surprise there_ , I thought.

I walked through the apartment, clearing it with my gun drawn. I figured Abruzzi's thugs had time to leave, but I wasn't taking any chances. This wasn't the time to get sloppy.

I gave Steph the all clear, and she entered the apartment. As I holstered my gun, her landline rang.

She answered it with trepidation, listening only briefly before handing the phone to me. I instinctively knew who it was, so I pushed the speakerphone button so Stephanie could listen in.

"Yo," I said in greeting, my voice devoid of emotion.

"Stay out of this," Abruzzi hissed into the open line. "This is a private matter between the girl and me."

"Wrong. As of this moment, you're out of her life."

"So, you're choosing sides?" he asked, his voice dark.

"Yeah, I'm choosing sides."

"You leave me no choice then. I suggest you look out the window to the parking lot," Abruzzi said, disconnecting.

We walked to the window. The SUV had returned. The driver paused in front of my truck, and the passenger lobbed a package into my truck's bed. In seconds, it had burst into flames.

I stood next to Stephanie, anger radiating off my body. I stayed silent and still, willing myself to calm down. Scaring Stephanie wouldn't help anything.

"I liked that truck," I finally admitted as firetrucks pulled into the lot.

An hour later, the truck was headed to the junk yard on a flatbed. I'd just completed the necessary paperwork as Joe Morelli drove into the lot. He crossed to us, and I gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

He stood close to Steph, his stance possessive. Protective. Marking his territory.

His actions weren't lost on me. I laughed inwardly, knowing I'd been in her bed last. _May the best man win,_ I thought smugly. Only, I knew he was the better man. He wasn't who I'd choose for Stephanie, but his karma was better than mine. He could give her the life she wanted. The one she deserved. He could be her companion, open up to her in ways I'd never be able. He could father her children and show them unconditional love. It's why I'd tried to send her back to him only days before. Still, it didn't mean it felt good.

"Do you want to tell me about this?" he asked Stephanie, his eyes searching hers.

"Off the record?"

"Off the record," he sighed.

I couldn't contain the smirk that escaped. Stephanie was a trial for Morelli. He'd be popping Rolaids the minute he climbed into his truck.

Stephanie told Joe about our trip to the Newark airport, explaining she'd let Evelyn & Dottie go to Florida. She told him of the men who were waiting for her in the lot and in her apartment, then finished with the story of the truck's demise.

"I need to talk to Ranger," Joe said, making eye contact with me. Fire burned in his eyes, camouflaged only by his cold cop face. "You're not going anywhere, are you?" His eyes settled back onto Stephanie.

"If I could borrow your truck, I'd get a pizza. I'm starved."

 _Cute,_ I thought. _Always thinking about food._

Morelli handed her the keys and some money, calling in the order for two pizzas.

Steph turned to leave, but I caught her shoulder.

"Be careful," I said.

She nodded, then left.

Once the SUV was out of the lot, Joe turned on me, his face displaying the rage I'd seen in his eyes earlier.

"What the fuck, Manoso?! What have you dragged her into now?" he shouted, waving his arms, his face growing red.

Getting arrested for assault on an officer wasn't on tonight's agenda, but the desire to grab the fool by the neck and throw him across the lot was strong.

"You're barking up the wrong tree, Morelli. I only stepped in to provide the assist. Stephanie found this one all on her own."

I could have stopped there, but my inner asshole felt the need to dig the knife in deeper. Morelli was a fool.

"Besides, I'm providing protection since her boyfriend jumped ship," I said calmly.

Morelli's eyes narrowed to slits. "Stay the fuck out of it, Manoso."

"And let Stephanie meet her end at the hands of Abruzzi? Never."

Joe stood still as a statue, anger radiating off his body, making an effort to collect himself.

"Well… Thank you, then," Joe finally choked out begrudgingly. "For protecting her."

"If you love her, you need to tell her," I said, my eyes never leaving his. "Do something about it."

He broke eye contact, studying his shoes. "What goes on between Stephanie and I is none of your business," Joe spat. "Besides, she's crazy."

"Well, since nothing is going on between you and Stephanie, I guess it's my turn," I said, my voice cold.

"You can't have her!" Morelli shouted, jealousy radiating from his pores.

"I think she gets to make that call," I said, a small smirk playing at the corner of my lips. A vision of her writhing in the bed beneath me only days earlier flashed behind my eyes, and the smirk widened into a grin. "You've given me an opportunity, Morelli. I suggest you deny it soon, or I'll take your woman."

He grabbed the front of my shirt and got up in my face. I still wore the smile.

"Police brutality?"

He released me, scanning the crowd to see if anyone noticed his misstep. I could have had his head for it, but I was enjoying the game more than I'd like to admit. Pissing off the cop qualified as cheap entertainment in my book.

Morelli and I argued a bit longer, then played twenty questions about the explosion until Tank turned into the lot in a black Range Rover. Hector followed in my Mercedes.

"Where's Steph?" Tank asked, crossing the lot.

"She's not back yet?" I asked, scanning the bodies in the lot. I'd been too distracted fucking with the cop. I hadn't noticed she hadn't returned. "She left to get a pizza, but she should be back by now."

Morelli glanced at his watch, then studied the lot too. "They said the pizza would be done in fifteen minutes. We're way past that." His face grew concerned, and he checked his phone. No messages. He dialed, then began having a conversation with dispatch. "I need an APB on Stephanie Plum. She's in my green Ford Explorer, New Jersey plates 968AXI…"

I checked my phone too. Nothing.

"Get in the Range Rover," I said to Tank and Morelli. "We're headed for Pino's."

I took the wheel of the Mercedes, Hector riding shotgun. I raced through the streets to Pino's, Tank on my bumper. My instincts said something was wrong. Very wrong.

I called the Rangeman control room, and Hal answered.

"I need a location on Stephanie's messenger bag," I roared into the phone.

After a moment of silence, Hal responded. "It's at her apartment. She's home."

"Fuck!" I exhaled into the phone. She'd left her bag in the apartment when she'd gone to check the truck. "She's not there. Do we have any units on her at the present?"

"Not that I can tell, boss. Do you want me to ping her cell phone?"

"It burned up in the CR-V," I said with regret. "Send all units out now. Check all of Abruzzi's known hangouts. I want her found. Now!"

I parked next to Morelli's green Explorer, which looked untouched. I raced into the building, scanning the people littering the table and the bar.

No Stephanie.

I fielded several calls from my men, each message eerily similar.

"No, Abruzzi isn't at my location."

Almost twenty minutes had passed when a green van roared into the lot, swerving into the parking spot next to Morelli's truck. Stephanie & her sister, Valerie, tumbled out. Both of their clothes were disheveled, their hands bound in front of their bodies with tape. Stephanie looked frantic. Valerie looked like she was going to be sick.

"He's in Pennsylvania in a house on a dirt road. He would have killed me, but Valerie drove the van into the house and got me out," Stephanie blurted.

I took a breath, releasing some of my anxieties. She was here, alive and in front of me.

I gave Stephanie the once-over, hoping she had returned to me untouched. No such luck. Her face and lips were swelling where she'd been hit, and a massive, serious burn was on her arm where here sleeve had been torn away.

Anger roiled through my veins, and it took every ounce of control I had to remain stoic. I vowed to end this… tonight.

"It was fucking awful," Valerie moaned, her teeth chattering with adrenaline burn off. "I was so fucking scared." She glanced at her wrists, which were bound with duct tape. "My wrists are taped together," she said, shock apparent on her face.

I shot a look at Hector, and he nodded acknowledgment. He pulled a switchblade from his sock and cut both of the Plum ladies' bindings.

"How do you want to do this?" Morelli asked me, his jaw grimly set.

"Take Val and Stephanie home," I said, wearing a blank face. I looked to Steph, and our eyes held. _This nightmare will be over soon,_ I tried to tell her with my eyes alone. _I won't let him hurt you anymore._

Morelli helped Steph into his truck, and Tank helped Valerie. They pulled out of the lot, and I felt the calm exterior I'd hidden behind all night cracking.

"Find that fucker," I hissed to Tank & Hector. "Use every resource at our disposal. Use our contacts. Buy them off if you must. No price is too high."

"Yes, boss," Tank acknowledged.

I turned away from them. "When you find him, he's mine."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: All characters belong to Janet Evanovich. This story picks up at the end of Hard Eight. The story is almost cannon, exploring how Abruzzi dies. However, this story is written in the same universe as my completed story, _Plum Sweet._ If you haven't read it yet, it might help you digest this short story. However, mostly what you need to know about Plum Sweet is that, in the book, Ranger is _unmentionable_ (like Diesel). The first pieces are almost verbatim Janet's writing, but I've changed the character voice to Ranger's point of view. It all belongs to her.

* * *

I drove the streets of Trenton alone in the Mercedes, Slipknot blaring through the speakers, the bass rattling my trunk. I'd tried classical, then jazz, then silence. None of those options seemed appropriate for my mood, so I'd settled on music as angry as I felt. Witnessing Abruzzi's cruelty first-hand had sent me over the edge, the image of Steph's burn seared into my memory.

We worked through the night, checking various tips and leads Rangeman had received about Abruzzi's possible movements. None of the leads had panned out, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

I could be patient.

Abruzzi was smart, but I was smarter.

Abruzzi could be deadly, but I was deadlier. My special talents were an insurance policy Abruzzi didn't carry.

By 2 AM, we had exhausted all our leads. I parked on the street half a mile away from Morelli's house, lights and music off. I wanted to be close by in case Abruzzi got any ideas. Even as I parked, thoughts of Stephanie persisted. The conversation we'd had on her couch several nights prior played in my mind.

" _I was wondering if you were human?" Stephanie asked, knocking back her third glass of wine._

" _What are the other choices?" I asked, playing along with her line of questioning._

" _I didn't have anything else specifically in mind."_

The irony of her words wasn't lost on me tonight, driving under the street lights. Sure, I was human.

I bled.

I felt, much to my dismay.

I was mortal.

But little did Stephanie know, I was more than human.

I was _unmentionable._

I intended to keep this information from her, too. Indefinitely, if possible.

I've avoided using my abilities almost my entire adult life. If tonight went as planned, that was going to change.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

My cell rang over the hands-free after thirty minutes, and I answered on the second ring.

"Report."

"I've got eyes on him," Tank said, his voice betraying no emotion.

Tank had been assigned to watch the front of Morelli's house through the night to guarantee Stephanie's safety. Lester watched the back of the house from the alley. The thought of Stephanie in Morelli's bed made my blood boil, so I tried to block out the vision.

Of course, Morelli didn't know his house was being watched. But I didn't trust him to take the steps required to ensure Steph's safety.

I pulled onto Clinton, flipping my lights on. I disabled the GPS trackers on my cell phone & vehicle. No need to document my location.

"You still at Morelli's?"

"Yep. He did a drive-by. He's alone. I'm following him with lights off. I'm northbound on Slater. Eight-hundred block."

"He didn't try anything?" I asked.

"No. He saw me in the SUV out front."

"Good. I'm a minute out," I said. "Don't lose him. If he circles back around, ram him."

I drove as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself. Abruzzi didn't need to know he had a tail. I intercepted him at the intersection of Roebling and Chambers, Tank following a block back.

"Head back to Rangeman," I told Tank over the hands-free. "I've got this covered."

"Don't you need backup for the apprehension?" Tank asked, his tone concerned.

"I'm not apprehending anybody," I said, my voice betraying no emotion. "This ends tonight."

"Ranger." A pregnant pause sat between us on the open line. "Don't ruin your life for some girl."

Tank was unaware of my unmentionable abilities. I wasn't planning to enlighten him tonight. Or ever, for that matter.

"She's not _some girl_ ," I said angrily. _She's my woman,_ I thought. "And that was a direct order. Go back to Rangeman, Tank. I'm in the wind."

"Ranger, com'on man, I…"

I disconnected and shut off my phone, cutting off Tank mid-thought. The decision to finish Abruzzi was weighing on my conscience enough. I didn't need Tank's two cents.

I followed the sedan northwest on Chambers Street, struggling to decide where to send him. The pine barrens? Stark Street? I followed him onto State, which he took to Olden. As he crossed Route 1, I decided the best course of action was to end this soon. The sun was threatening to rise within the hour, and we were headed away from the obvious choices.

 _The farmers market,_ I thought. I knew the lot would be vacant at this hour, and it was far enough from the beaten path we were sure to remain undisturbed.

Plus, his body would be found before it had the chance to swell in the mid-day spring heat.

 _You want to go to the farmers market,_ I projected. _Drive there now._

It was no surprise when the sedan turned onto Princeton, then to Spruce. I'd never met someone immune to my persuasive abilities.

Times like this, the sheer power of my abilities alarmed me. No human should possess this kind of power. I tried to squash the sick feeling that was stirring in my stomach by focusing on Steph. I reminded myself her safety was threatened by the evil man in the car in front of me.

 _Park in the lot. Shut off your car. Unlock your doors._

I parked behind the sedan, and I saw Abruzzi eyeing me curiously in his rear view. I drew my gun, climbing out of the Mercedes.

 _Put the gun in your lap. You won't shoot Manoso,_ I projected.

Abruzzi opened his door and moved to exit, recognition blooming on his face.

 _Stay there. Stay in the car._

He did as I asked, but his smart mouth was not under my control. Not yet, anyway.

"So, we meet again, Manoso," Abruzzi growled. "Yet another battle to be fought in war."

"I warned you to stay away from Ms. Plum," I said calmly. "You don't listen very well."

He laughed a vicious, insane laugh.

"You don't listen so well yourself," he said, going for his gun again.

"You're not going to shoot me tonight," I said, persuasion dripping from every word.

Before I'd finished the thought, he'd set the gun in his lap once more.

I longed to cause him physical pain, like the kind he'd caused Stephanie only hours earlier. I knew better than to give into the urge, though. It would cause suspicion when the body was found. Damaging him the way I wanted would indicate possible foul play. I didn't have time to be a suspect in a murder investigation.

"Did you forget? I told you last night, the war is lost. You should have moved on when you had the chance."

"The General never gives up on…" Abruzzi began, but I cut him off before he could finish the thought.

"Tonight, you're going to shoot yourself. But first, I need you to write a note. Find something to write on."

As if in a trance, Abruzzi reached into his briefcase, extracting a legal pad and an Aspinal of London fountain pen.

"Write that you're depressed about some bad business deals. Write that you had to end your life," I instructed.

I watched as he scrawled my sentiments onto the legal pad, signing his name beneath them. His face was confused, but he did as he'd been told.

"Very good," I said. "Set the pad in the windshield and return the pen to your briefcase. Close your door and sit quietly."

He did as I'd instructed, and I returned to the Mercedes, sliding into the luxurious leather seat. I turned the key, bringing the engine to life. I backed out of the spot and drove toward the lot's entrance.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew what came next. It didn't mean I liked to do it. I took a calming breath and focused, pushing away the endless self-loathing I felt.

 _Pick up your gun. Hold it to your temple. Say goodnight, Abruzzi. Pull the trigger._

I heard the muffled gun shot as I turned onto Spruce, pointing the Mercedes toward Haywood.

The first pink streaks of dawn were creeping across the sky as I pulled into the underground garage to park. I beeped the car locked and crossed to the elevator, where Tank waited for me.

"It's done," I stated simply, pushing the button for the seventh floor.

Tank pushed the button for the fifth floor and nodded once, standing straight.

"Anything I can do, boss?" he asked.

I read between the lines. He was really asking, _Anything I need to clean up?_

"No. He ended his own life."

Tank gave me a disbelieving look. "Should I call it in?"

"He'll be found. Get some sleep. I'm offline."

The doors opened to the fifth floor. Tank moved to exit the elevator but paused in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry it came to this, man," Tank said.

"Me too," I said in a barely perceptible whisper.

Tank gave me a solemn look, then left me alone with my burden.

* * *

 _You traded your soul for hers,_ I accused the monster staring back at me in the bathroom mirror of my penthouse apartment. _You're a fuck-up._

 _Yes, but the creature you killed had no soul,_ my subconscious argued.

I rubbed my hands over my face. Worry lines creased the corners of my eyes and mouth, and dark circles rimmed my eyes. I'd been staring at myself in the mirror for over an hour, struggling to come to terms with my actions. After significant soul-searching, I was shocked to find that killing the bastard wasn't what bothered me the most. It was the means I'd used to do it.

Jett's words from long ago echoed through my head.

"Unmentionables are an anomaly, something that cannot be explained by science or nature. We shouldn't exist, yet we do. It's our responsibility to use our abilities for good, and good alone."

Can I ever be good? _Do_ good? Can I ever repair the wrong I've done?

I stripped out of my clothes, throwing them haphazardly on the floor. I turned the shower on to its hottest setting and climbed in, letting the water wash away any shits I may have given. I dried myself, then wrapped the towel around my waist.

Despite mental and physical exhaustion, I knew sleep would never find me. I'd kept the monster inside buried for years. Tonight's events had been a painful reminder of the soulless, cruel person I was.

A person undeserving of love. A man who could never deserve a woman like Stephanie Plum.

I dug around in my medicine chest, finding a bottle of Ambien. I swallowed a dose, washing them down with water from the bathroom sink.

I stood in front of the mirror, hating myself. Scorning myself.

For good measure, I swallowed three Vicodin.

I hadn't abused pills in years, but it seemed like now was the time to break the rules. God knows I'd broken the rest of the rules in the past twenty-four hours.

 _When I wake up, I'll keep fighting to be the man she deserves,_ I thought. _For now, I will loathe myself._

Old habits die hard.

I brushed my teeth and hung my towel on a rod to dry. I exited to the bedroom, slipping between the luxurious sheets my housekeeper had insisted I needed to become a civilized person.

I had to admit, they were nice. Too nice.

I stared at the ceiling, the early morning light softly filtering in from around the curtains to illuminate it. I felt the pull of the pills easing my nerves, beckoning me away from the worries of the world. Tendrils of blackness swirled in my head, consuming painful thoughts before they could further destroy the thin veil of sanity I'd managed to wear.

As I drifted off to sleep, my last thought was of a woman… a curly brown-haired, blue eyed beauty from Jersey. _My woman._


End file.
